


Don't you know you're already enough

by kingsoup



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoup/pseuds/kingsoup
Summary: Newt feels bad and is moody about it





	Don't you know you're already enough

It had been one of those nights, to say the least. 

 

To say a little more, it was the kind of night where Newt couldn’t stand being in his own skin - to be alive was a complicated thing. Newt loved the dirty aspects of living; he did love biology, after all, but the parts of living where reality blurred with belief and he couldn’t dissect it, or hold it, or _understand_ it, now those parts of life he had a tense relationship with. Feelings, in other words, could go fuck themselves. 

 

He had, literally, drunk himself under the table trying to taste his feelings on his tongue and spit them out once and for all. His hands flexed and un-flexed, trying to hold something that wasn’t there. All of his nervous habits showed up at once - he stuttered and counted religiously (laughing between breathes at the realization that he was dangerously close to worshipping numbers right now), and repeated hand movements compulsively until he just cried and cried and cried and that still wasn’t enough. He was exhausted and scared and confused and _alive_. 

He wasn’t ungrateful, but god, why did he have to do everything with such vigour and chaos? Why did he have to make a mess of everything he touched? 

 

 

Hermann had found him, as he always did, and probably always would. He always looked like he was being crushed by responsibility with the way he hunched over a bit and leaned too heavily on his cane. Who was the man with the world on his back in those books that he read? Why didn’t he ever ask for help? Who was he even thinking of anymore - Atlas, or Hermann? 

 

He tells him this. He doesn’t listen. He tries a different approach.

 

“No one asked you to take care of me, you know.” Newt slurs as Hermann examines an empty bottle. His nose scrunches up with disgust - he probably thought Newt had poor taste in alcohol. Another day he would’ve said, _but baby at least I’ve got good enough taste to know I want you_ , and in another lifetime, maybe, Hermann would’ve laughed. No one was laughing tonight.

“I would never do this because someone asked - they would owe me too much in return.” Hermann replies with disinterest, but Newt knows by the way he his gripping the bottle too tightly that he is worried about Newt, again. 

 

In the same lifetime Hermann would laugh at Newt’s shitty jokes and pick-up lines, Newt would be good enough for Hermann. In that lifetime that Newt wasn’t a manic alcoholic that spent nights crying over having a heart and feeling things too heavy for his lungs to support - in that lifetime there was room in his chest for his lungs to breathe, his heart to beat, and his feelings to reside without suffocating the other two. He would be everything Hermann deserved and more, because god, did Hermann deserve that much. Whatever _that_ much was. 

“Darling,” Hermann whispers, touching the sides of Newt’s face to lift the glasses from his face. “You already are _that_ much.” 

 

Hermann kisses the bridge of Newt’s nose, where his glasses have indented his face and Newt cries some more, because what else can you do when it is just one of those nights?


End file.
